


Draining Agony

by SilverFliesInBlueSugar (orphan_account)



Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: Gen, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Self-Mutilation, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:20:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22040200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/SilverFliesInBlueSugar
Summary: Arackniss couldn't live with the guilt anymore.His family won't let him die
Relationships: SpiderFamily - Relationship
Comments: 2
Kudos: 54





	Draining Agony

He sat dubiously, endlessly, at the tombstone.

Rain was pouring down in sleets, both soaking and chilling anything outside to the bone. Anyone out for more than a few minutes would surely succumb to hypothermia or pnuemonia.

Good. Precisely the point.

He clutched his jacket to himself, and let the soaked-through material scratch against his skin, the cheap and worn texture irritating him.

It caught on his wrist, on his wet cuts, and he gasped and hissed before rubbing the fresh blood off on his wet hand. It pooled into pink and was washed away by further rain in seconds.

He just sighed, looking back down, hands clenched in tight fists on his knees. Part of him wanted to dash his brain on the tomb or floor, and get his death over with faster. But to die so violently apon her resting place... Felt like desecration.

Still. The agony of freezing to death almost made him consider it.

He just wanted to be fucking dead.

"ARACKNISS! ARE YOU HERE?"

He tensed up and swore under his breath at the voice. Fuck fuck fuck, NO! She couldn't stop him now! He was so close, he could feel it! His head was burning and his throat was closing up and his body wouldn't stop shaking-

His vision was darkening.

He didn't register the sound of running footsteps and further screams of his name, slipping into darkness.

\---

Molly sobbed violently as she carried her elder brother in her arms, stumbling slightly, her umbrella left behind by the tombstone. When Arackniss had darted out into the middle of the night, no one had known quite what to expect, just that it couldn't be anything good. Arackniss never looked so... _erratic._

She stared down at his limp, cold arm, and the angry inflamed red slashes coating the inner of it. The sight almost made her hurl. Oh dear god, christ above, she prayed. Let him live. Let my brother live. I can't lose another of my family. I'll die too.

By the time she had reached the car, her legs were almost too weak to continue standing.

Henroin jumped up with wide eyes, running over, and when he asked her what happened she started screaming, unable to speak past her crying. Martin jumped out of the car behind him, hurrying to pull her into the warmth and dry of the car, desperately trying to comfort her as she bawled into his shirt, trying not to look at his elder brother, paler than he had ever been before, almost deathly so, with eyes underlined with heavy shadows and blood pooling so viscuous that not even the onslaught of rain could clear it's vividity instantly as it dripped into the puddles beneath their feet.

"What have you done..." Henroin breathed in horrified wonder, staring down at the wide gashes and how badly his son was shaking. Those sorts of scars - feral and violent and uncoordinated; so deep they would certainly need stitches - could only come from a depth of self hatred most struggled to reach in their entire lives.

Arackniss was 14 years old.

The death of his mother had hit him further than the rest of the family, Henroin knew grimly. He had been there to witness it, to see the bullet fly through flesh and bone until it broke through the other end, had heard the way the corpse had slapped against the wall, had felt the spray of crimson on his skin.

Had screamed until his throat was raw, because if he had reacted but a second faster, had pulled the trigger just a little quicker, his mother could still be with him.

As far as Arackniss was concerned, her death was his fault. 

He bundled the teen into the car, trying to ignore his clammy hands and uneven breathing as his son breathed too shallowly to be healthy in any sense of the word, cheeks hollowed, eyes sunken. He hadn't reacted at all to any touch.

Henroin staunchly ignored the trails of hot water that streaked his face. It was just the rain.

The moment they reached home, at the fastest the car could go, he ran past his crying children without a glance back, Arackniss held tightly in his arms as he sprinted to the teen's bedroom and laid him down, before roaring for medical help.

It had been a night all of them had agreed to forget of after. It was simply too horrid to continue to remember.

The scars never quite healed, though.


End file.
